


a way of saying that's one win for honesty

by Spiesbian



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, just be aware yall that these tags are gonna be updated as we goooo, something that isn't really angst but it's not quite fluff??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 09:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18385229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spiesbian/pseuds/Spiesbian
Summary: A collection of drabbles I write that are too short to be all on their own but I don't want to let fester in my drive.





	1. forever forever

Curt resisted the urge to look down at his feet. Jesus, why was waltzing so hard? At least he wasn’t wearing a tie, he’d be choking half to death if that were added to his stress. 

“Chin up, love.” Owen hooked a finger under his jaw and tilted Curt’s head up. “Gentlemen don’t keep their eyes glued to the floor.”

“What? Pfft.” Curt snorted. “I wasn’t looking at my feet I was just…”

“Checking your fly?” Owen chuckled, kicking up the pressure on Curt by starting to spin. Fuck, he really did look good in a suit. “Just keep your eyes on me.” 

“Like I’d want to do anything else.” Instead of focusing so hard on his feet, Curt decided to just copy Owen and concentrate on the sound of the piano. The song was oddly familiar, buried somewhere deep in his subconscious. He could almost hear the words, but they were just too far for him to grasp.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you,” Owen hummed. “Have you been keeping yourself away from alcohol?”

A brief stumble in Curt’s step. “Sort of.”

“Sort of? What does that mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s fine, alright?” Curt subtly tightened his grip on Owen’s hand. “I’m not dead yet.”

“A precarious philosophy. Are you sure it’s not going to do you in?”

“I’ll just have to find out, won’t I?”

“So you’ve been doing all right without me?” Owen’s words almost had Curt trip completely, but he was quickly saved by Owen gripping his hips and lifting him into the air. He turned around, setting Curt back down after just a few split seconds. It was strange, but Curt felt light headed from it, like he’d been up much higher than a few inches off the ground. 

“Of course I’ve been doing fine.” Curt tried to have them glaze over the mistake in their careful dance. “Why wouldn’t I be? I was a spy long before you came around.”

“I just want to check on you.”

The void yawned around them, endless as ever. Owen’s hand on his back felt like a lead weight, slowly pushing all of the air out of his lungs.Curt tightened his grip again. He had to hold on.

“Owen, I-”

“What are you doing, Curt?”

Curt’s knuckles were blanched white. “We can go back to talking about the alcohol thing, just-”

_“Why are you here?”_

He couldn’t breathe, movements becoming more robotic and stiffer as his body seemingly shut down. Owen only moved faster in response. “Wait a second, I can’t keep up with you.”

“What are you going to do when I’m gone? Are you going to be okay? Will you be anything?”

“Owen, stop it!” The dance had become too much for Curt to process. He somehow kept pace with Owen, but his legs begged to collapse underneath him. 

Owen just hummed. “You knew that this was going to happen, dearest. Inevitable, as they say.”

He leaned forward, just brushing his lips against Curt’s. Feather-light and ephemeral, like a ghost. He was a ghost. 

Curt felt Owen’s hand slip out of his before he saw him fall away. In their dance he’d stepped right off of the edge of the cracked marble floor beneath them and right into the darkness. He gasped, dropping to his knees and staring into the darkness below. 

“Owen!” He screamed. Nothing, just the world surrounding him slowly flaking away like dust in the wind. 

He didn’t hold on.

* * *

Curt woke up coughing, gasping for breath like someone had just been holding him underwater, an experience he was actually well acquainted with. He curled up on his side, trying to ride it out until he could finally breathe.

Just _breathe_ , dammit.

It took several minutes, but eventually his panic attack wore itself out. By that point, Curt just lay there in bed, hollowed out and too exhausted to make a real effort to get up. His head was pounding thanks to the amount of alcohol that was clearing itself out of his system. He needed to get up, eat _something_ before he eventually drank himself to sleep again. 

Curt threw his legs out of bed, using the extra momentum to pitch himself forward. He stumbled into the wall and rested his shoulder on it to stay propped up. The more the memories of the dream came back to him, the more Curt realized that he might be drinking long before the evening. Shame, he was rather proud of the fact that he hadn’t been day drinking.

He scrubbed a hand across his face to try and wake up. The scruff around his jaw was becoming less of a five o’clock shadow and more of an unkempt mess. He should shave it, get rid of it in someway. Curt had never really been a fan of beards, personally. He preferred to go clean shaven. But… He was tired. It wasn’t like he had to do it today. He could do it tomorrow, or maybe the next day. Or the one after that.

One more day.


	2. hemophobia

Owen slammed the door behind them, breathing heavily. Curt was pressed up against the wall nearby, waving a hand around as if that would communicate his point better. 

“Do we have the documents?” Owen asked. Curt wordlessly held up a manila folder. “Good, good… how’re you doing?”

“Peachy,” Curt wheezed. “I can’t feel my feet and the rest of my legs are more a vague feeling of pain than a muscle group, but I’m doing great.”

“Great.” Owen winced at the twinge in his side, reaching a hand over to touch it. His fingers came back slicked with blood. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” Curt looked over and instantly all of the color drained out of his face. “Oh my god, what happened?!”

“It seems a bullet may have grazed my side.” Owen peeled back his shirt to get a better look at it. “It doesn’t seem too bad, just a flesh wound.”

“Are you okay? Are you going to bleed to death?” Curt shifted from foot to foot.

“No, I said it’s fine. I have some bandages in my jacket that I can use.” He rummaged around for them. “Can you help me put them on, it’s a bit of an awkward angle.”

“O-Oh, yea, totally.”

Owen dropped to the ground. It was tempting to lean against the wall, but that would just make the whole process a lot more difficult. Curt moved to sit behind him, and he passed the roll of bandages over. 

“It’s not much, but it’ll be enough until we reach actual medical help,” Owen mused. 

Curt got to work, slowly circling the bandages around his abdomen. Owen reveled in the brief moments Curt would wrap his arms around him as he switched the roll from one hand to the next. Eventually, though, it dawned on him that it was going a lot slower than it should, and with that realization he noticed that Curt’s hands were shaking like crazy.

“Are you good over there?” Owen asked. “I’m going to bleed through the bandages by the time you’re done.”

“Doin’ great!” Curt’s voice sounded at least two octaves higher than usual.

Owen frowned. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Nothing’s _wrong_ , why would you even suggest that?”

“You’re absolutely _terrible_ at lying to me.”

“Okay, well, maybe I have a tiny little problem with blood.”

It took all Owen had not to burst out laughing and mess up the bandage. “We _just_ killed two people, nevermind everything else.”

“Well it’s scarier when it’s your blood! Or mine! I don’t like seeing blood from people I care about.”

“God, if we weren’t faced like this I could kiss you.”

“I’ll take you up on that later when I’m not about to pass out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just gonna go ahead and dump everything i have here in one go


	3. syrup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning bc there's some description of blood here. it's not very realistic n more artsy than anything else but i thought i should warn you.

Owen didn’t quite recall how he’d ended up holding a knife that was currently embedded in Curt’s stomach, but he somehow knew that he was the one who did it. He could hear himself hyperventilating, but the only thing he could feel was an intense burning heat just underneath his skin. The worst part of it all was how Curt didn’t seem to be worried about this.

He kissed Owen, slow and chaste, smearing blood across his lips. It tasted like syrup, too sweet and too cold in direct contrast to the feverish temperature of his skin. Like ice. Curt deepened the kiss for just a moment, then pulled back. He was smiling serenely like there wasn't a blade buried in his vital organs, an odd picture of peace and acceptance. He hugged Owen closer, humming a soft tune next to his ear.

“Curt…” Owen's voice sounded like a whine. His hand refused to let go of the handle.

“It's okay,” Curt whispered, stroking his hair. “It's not your fault.”

But it _was_. It was Owen's fault. Why wasn't Curt _doing_ anything? He should be fighting back, clinging to life. He couldn't just let Owen do this. Right?

Everything had gone soft around the edges. Owen should be fainting right now, or vomiting, or maybe both somehow, but his knees were locked into place. The heat was reaching dizzying heights, the sickly sweet blood sitting heavy on his tongue. He almost would have preferred it to taste like copper.

“You know this had to happen.” Curt breathed.

“Why are you doing this?” he begged. “You can’t let me do this.”

“I’m not letting you do anything. This is all you, sweetheart.”

Curt kissed him again, cold as snow and twice as soft. His arms sat loosely around Owen’s neck, trapping him there more effectively than any chain could have. Owen felt tears dripping down his face. He gave into it.

* * *

The pull to the waking world was a harsh one. Owen gasped and immediately regretted it as his chest wailed in pain for his actions. Actually, everything hurt. He searched for the reason. The last thing he remembered was…

Oh. That. Now that he’d brought it up to the forefront of his mind the horror on Curt’s face as he turned back up the stairs was burned into the back of his retinas. Owen bit down hard on his tongue. He didn’t want to think about that.

“Ah, good, you’re finally awake.”

Owen turned so quickly to the sound of the voice that his head started spinning. It took him several seconds to process the woman sitting in the chair next to his… bed? Was he in a bed?

“Who’re you?” He croaked.

“You can call me Michelle.”

“What is this place?”

Michelle sighed in exasperation. “Fine, we can get the questions out of the way. It’s our medical facility, since you’re not exactly fit to be in a cot right now.”

“Our…?”

“Oh, please excuse my rudeness.” She held out a hand. “I’m here on the behalf of Chimera.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope yall like flowery bullshit symbolism as much as I dooooo.

**Author's Note:**

> everyone on the discord is gonna have seen quite a few of these bad boys but I figured I might as well start posting them here. hope y'all enjoy. drabble requests are open
> 
> go talk to me or request stuff on my saf blog @spiesbian on tumblr


End file.
